


save water & shower with your girlfriend

by pragmatic



Category: The 100
Genre: F/M, Roommates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2021-02-28 07:01:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22959859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pragmatic/pseuds/pragmatic
Summary: “What do you mean, you can’t fix it?” Clarke said, exasperated.“There must be a rusty pipe or something. I screwed the shower head back on and water kept gushing out anyway.” Bellamy shrugged. “You’ll just have to wait until Saturday for the land lord to fix your shower.”“And what am I supposed to do until then?”“Well, you can either stink up with the whole building and not shower for a week, or you can use mine, like a logical person.”“Fine.” She said. Then reluctantly. “Thank you.”“I’m doing my nostrils a favour, not you.”
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Comments: 12
Kudos: 248





	save water & shower with your girlfriend

Clarke tried her best not to stereotype entire groups of people. It was neither progressive or healthy, and sometimes, it made her seem like a dick. But sometimes, she was a dick, and there was a very specific group of pricks that she really thought deserved it. They had lied to her, deceived her, gotten her into shit she thoroughly could have lived without, and all in all, screwed her over time after time.

Landlords. Fucking _landlords_ , man.

***

The spray hit her directly in the face, to which she almost just stood there and took, because why wouldn’t her shower head decide to turn against her.

Her eyes squeezed shut from the power of the water ebbing from the broken nozzle, she grappled uselessly for the valve, knocking over shampoo bottles and razors. The crack as they hit the floor assaulted her ears, causing her to cringe. She let out a quiet roar of frustration and ripped open the shower curtain to step out and recollect her senses.

She wiped the dampness from her eyes, and towelled off, finally able to reach in and turn off the water. A welcome quiet settled over the bathroom.

The bathmat squelched uncomfortably under her bare feet. It was drenched in a lovely puddle of rebel liquid, which covered the entire bathroom floor as well. Sighing, she grabbed the hand towel from the counter, dropping it onto the mess and leaving to get dressed.

She had to walk through the kitchen in order to get to her bedroom, and came across Bellamy preparing his breakfast. A plate of eggs, sunny side up, and black coffee sat on the island next to him as he scrolled through his phone.

“I heard a bang when you were in there. Everything ok?” He didn’t look up, but she appreciated the concern anyway.

“I just knocked some shampoo over.” She pushed her still sopping wet hair out of her face, exhaling. “Do you have some extra towels I can borrow?”

He glanced up, opened his mouth to answer, and squinted at her instead. “You still have suds in your hair.”

Gritting her teeth, she stomped over to her door. “I _know_.”

She barely resisted slamming her door. Their landlord, Richard, whom she fondly referred to as Dick most of the time, was on vacation for another week. Meaning that Clarke was out of a shower, and wouldn’t be able to get it fixed for another seven days at least.

Technically, it was Bellamy’s apartment, which meant that he got the master bedroom with the attached bathroom. Clarke had moved in about three months ago, and not really out of her own free will. Bellamy’s sister moved in with her girlfriend, Clarke’s lease ended, his apartment was close to her work, and it only made sense for her to take Octavia’s place.

However, Clarke hadn’t been Bellamy’s biggest fan, and vice versa. Unfortunately, that only increased once they became roommates. They fought constantly—over dishes and groceries and cleaning habits or lack thereof. The scene in the kitchen was rare; the fact that nothing was broken in a rage was a miracle in itself.

She got dressed, yanking her clothes over her head and onto her legs, muttering to herself the entire time. She hated asking for Bellamy’s help, she hated looking weak or girly or vulnerable in front of him, and she hated admitting when she didn’t know how to do something. Her ponytail bouncing behind her, she headed back into the kitchen with the intention of putting on her big girl panties.

But the apartment was empty, dishes washed and drying in the sink.

She sighed, crossing her arms in guilt when she saw three neatly folded towels sitting on the counter.

***

She didn’t cross paths with him again until the next day, and she plastered a sunny smile on her face once she did.

He wasn’t at all fooled. “What do you want?”

The smile dropped from her face at his tone. “I’m not allowed to smile at my roommate in greeting? There has to be an edge?”

He raised his eyebrows, mouth full of cereal. “There isn’t?”

She grit her teeth. “Yes. There is. Shut up.” He hid a smile behind another mouthful. “My shower broke yesterday. Can you see if you can fix it?”

“Where’s Rickety Dickety? Why can’t he do it?”

“He’s on vacation until saturday, remember?” She grabbed a handful of cereal from the box, eating it as she explained. “I could always wait for him, but that would mean using your bathroom for the rest of the week.” Her smile was wide and fake, hoping the statement would give him some incentive to help her.

He paused, then shrugged. “I can take a look at it. I can’t promise anything, though.”

She couldn’t help but frown. She had expected to do a lot more convincing, and he had agreed to help no problem. “Okay. Great. Um, see you later then.”

He waved his spoon around in a farewell gesture, quickly continuing to munch happily on his cereal.

Clarke grabbed her purse and her coat, shrugging on the latter as she walked out the door, trying her best not to over analyze anything. At work, an up and coming publishing company where she designed book covers, she felt queasy. Her spinach salad turned sour in her stomach, and she had to ask to leave early.

What was wrong with her? Since when did getting along with Bellamy make her sick to her stomach? Since when did she let her relationship with Bellamy effect her job?

She nearly slammed on the brakes in surprise.

_Since when did she have a relationship with Bellamy?_

She shook her head. She was overthinking things. Bellamy could be nice; she just wasn’t used to him being nice to her.

When she arrived home, she crawled under the covers, fully intending to sleep away the afternoon. She’d also managed to contract a headache on the drive back, which she hoped desperately would be gone by the time she woke up.

There was a palm covering her face.

She slapped the intruder away, threatening unheard of violence to their testicles.

“Good morning to you, too.” Bellamy said, flicking her still flailing fingers. “Are you always this pleasant when you wake up?”

She burrowed deeper into her cocoon. “Only when you’re involved. What are you doing in my room?”

He straightened the picture frame on her nightstand, staring at the picture of her and Raven in their college days. “I saw you were home early and wanted to check on you, but you didn’t answer the door. I was just checking your temperature when you began terrorizing my ball sack.”

She easily ignored the swoop in her stomach. Obviously, she was coming down with the flu. “And?” She stuck out her bottom lip. “Am I gonna make it, doctor?”

He rolled his eyes as he walked out of the room, talking over his shoulder. “Nothing a brain transplant won’t cure.”

She found it difficult to fight the smile climbing onto her face.

***

She’d begun to feel much better about the whole situation. She was feeling weird because she was sick, which meant nothing would change between her and Bellamy, just like she wanted. Things really were looking up.

And then of course, Bellamy told her he couldn’t fix her shower.

“What do you mean, you can’t fix it?”

“There must be a rusty pipe or something. I screwed the shower head back on and water kept gushing out anyway.” He shrugged. “You’ll just have to wait until Saturday.”

The sudden urge to rip her hair out was overwhelming. “And what am I supposed to do until then?”

“You’re so dramatic.” He began scrubbing vigorously at the counter, even though there was nothing there to be scrubbed at. “You can either stink up with the whole building and not shower for a week, or you can use mine, like a logical person.”

She mocked him, maturely, before crossing her arms in a huff. “Fine.” She said. Then reluctantly, “Thank you.”

“I’m doing my nostrils a favour, not you.”

She stuck out her tongue at him, and he hit her with the towel as he walked by.

Her sigh was one of relief. Everything was going to be fine.

***

_What if he has a girl over? What if he sleeps naked? What if I see his penis?_

She stopped short. She would _not_ think about Bellamy’s dick before she got into the shower.

There were just so many factors she hadn’t considered! He normally went away if he wanted sex, but who’s to say he didn’t change things up last night? He has a vague idea about her routine, but what if he’s forgotten suddenly that she’s supposed to use his shower at all? And! What about when she came out of the shower? Was she supposed to change in the bathroom? Like some heathen?

She inhaled sharply. She knew she was going to have to go in there eventually, standing outside his door agonizing over it wasn’t going to change that. She knocked.

No answer.

She cracked open the door, and found a neatly made bed, with no Bellamy in sight. It was eight thirty in the morning, where did he have to be so early? Nevertheless, her heart stopped throwing itself at her rib cage, and she entered the room gingerly.

She’d never been in Bellamy’s room, and she felt extremely intrusive doing it for the first time while he wasn’t there.

Oh, well.

She flipped through the small stack of books on his nightstand, hoping to find something juicy to judge, but they were all admittedly interesting. She put the Iliad down with a smack, disappointed in the lack of entertainment. She then eagerly ran her hand over the bedspread, which was a deep red, with silk black sheets fitted beneath it.

“Jesus,” she said. “He’s a classy motherfucker.”

She wandered over to the black bookshelves that entirely lined one wall, organized in alphabetical order and genre, and looked to have been freshly dusted. She shook her head; of course they were.

The last thing to explore was his desk, which sat under the window, and was the only area with anything out of place. Pieces of paper scattered the surface, short lines of prose scribbled across them. She picked one up, but it was impossible to decipher what it said. She thought it might have been Latin, but she couldn’t tell anything due to his chicken scratch.

She turned off and on his lamp a few times, then, feeling bored and dissatisfied, went to dig through his bathroom cupboards instead.

There were some pain killers, extra tubes of toothpaste, floss, and peach scented shampoo. She raised her eyebrows for a moment, but finding out he used woman’s bath products wasn’t exactly the kind of dirt she was hoping for.

But what _had_ she been hoping for? To find some deep and dirty secret laying out for her on his bed? He was an idiot, but he wasn’t stupid.

She put the products back in their place, and turned on the shower. While she waited for it to warm up, she couldn’t help but compare their two living spaces. Clarke’s room was cluttered and messy, not at all personalized, filled to the brim with soft blankets and half painted canvases, and she couldn’t remember the last time she vacuumed, let alone dusted.

Bellamy’s smelled nice, had matching furniture, and everything was neatly in its place at all times. It was clearly an adult’s room, while Clarke’s could easily be placed next to a twelve year olds, and no one would know the difference.

She crossed her arms, trying to comfort herself by reminding herself that she’d only been here a few months, while he’d lived here for a few years. As she stepped under the stream, she made up her mind. She was going to do something with her room, even that only meant cleaning it.

She shook her head. Less than ten minutes in Bellamy‘s space and she was already having major life revelations.

She hoped that wouldn’t become a habit.

***

The next two mornings, Bellamy was gone by the time she was ready to shower, and it was pure bliss. Entering a boy’s bathroom was always dangerous territory, but Bellamy kept it extremely clean, and she was only a little afraid of getting diseases. But everyone should always be a little afraid of that.

Her flu bug had gone as quickly as it had come, and she was feeling very inspired to rearrange her bedroom. It looked like it might actually be a good week.

She got home before Bellamy that day, and decided to immediately hone in on her room. She’d bought a new bedspread to get started, a pretty pattern in grey and white, and white sheets. She made up her mattress with them, and then decided her bed would look better pushed up against the window.

She peeled her dirty clothes off the floor, and put them in the basket in the corner. She promptly placed the basket in the laundry room, so she wouldn’t be tempted to take them out and wear them the next day.

Bellamy arrived home just as she was beginning to organize her CD collection. (By artist and genre. Obviously.)

Her door was open, so he leaned up against the door jamb, frowning.

“What?”

“Nothing.” He said, his tone teasing. “I just forgot that you had a floor.”

She rolled her eyes, and focused back on her task. She couldn’t decide if Beyonce should go in pop, or have a whole special category of her own.

Wordlessly, Bellamy sat down beside her on the carpet, and began organizing as well. This wasn’t off putting, as Bellamy loved to organize. She wasn’t sure how he knew the system she was using, but every time she went to argue with him about his choice, she found she would have made the same one.

“Did something happen at work?” He asked, suddenly and carefully.

She furrowed her brows. “No. Why?”

“You’re cleaning.” He explained, as if that was comparable to her breaking down and crying.

“Shut up.” She laughed, shoving him. “I clean.”

“Maybe. You don’t organize, though.” He waved a CD case around as evidence.

“Well, maybe I’m becoming a better person.”

He snorted, but didn’t say anything else. She tried not to get too comfortable in their silence, she and Bellamy didn’t do comfortable, their comfortable was arguing and disappearing in a huff.

She startled a little. She honestly couldn’t remember the last time that had happened.

“You know,” Bellamy inquired, pulling her from her thoughts. “We could paint that wall grey, and it wouldn’t look horrible.”

 _We. We. We._ “Oh, yeah? Are you an interior designer now?”

It was his turn to shove her, but there was a slight smile on his face. “Whatever, I’m just _saying_.” He stood, wiping his palms on his jeans. “I’m just glad you’re personalizing the room a little. We all know Octavia never did.”

Clarke looked down at her lap. She remembered visiting about a year ago, and Octavia’s walls had been barren. No pictures, no colour, just a bed and a dresser.

Octavia had always been a little selfish, especially when it came to Bellamy.

“Well, I’m planning on staying a while.” She coughed. “So get used to it.”

He laughed, throwing his head back and everything. She was always secretly thrilled when she got him to do that. He didn’t laugh nearly enough.

“Well, good.” He smiled, shaking his head, half out the door already. “I can pick up your paint after work on Thursday.”

“Make sure it matches my comforter, or it will throw the whole room off!” She called after him, smiling when she heard another chuckle.

She stared at her collection, then stood as well, forcing herself to do the laundry waiting for her on the other side of the apartment. Once that was finished, she joined Bellamy in the kitchen, irritating him as he made dinner.

“Okay. Okay. Fine.” He pointed his spatula at her. “If you have to be out here you are at least going to help.”

She mock saluted. “Yes, sir.”

He rolled his eyes, and shoved some mushrooms in her direction. “Cut these up and put them in the pan. Try not to injure yourself in the process.”

She did as she was told, elbowing him at some points just to remind him that she could still ruin his life if she wanted.

“What’s next, chef?” She asked once the mushrooms were sizzling away nicely.

He eyed her, picking up a package of fettuccine. “Do you think you can handle some pasta?”

She snatched the package from his hand greedily. “I guess we’ll find out.”

“Yeah, that’s what I’m worried about.”

She hip checked him cheekily on her way to the stove, and he nearly sent her flying across the room in retaliation.

It turned out, she could handle pasta, and they each ended up with a lovely plate of shrimp alfredo. Normally, she grumpily took her plate into her room to eat, not ever eager to share a meal with Bellamy, but tonight she sat down at the table decidedly, ignoring his look.

He sat down, too, and overall, it was a very enjoyable evening.

***

Today, Clarke decided it would be a good time to be a complete idiot, and walk into Bellamy’s room unannounced.

She nearly dropped her bath caddy.

There he was, shirtless, tangled in his sheets, snoozing away, and looking absolutely _delicious_. Her mouth was dry, her palms were sweaty, and she was suddenly and extremely aware of her tongue. She had always been vaguely conscious of the fact that Bellamy was attractive, but seeing it all in front of her, while he was in bed—it was a lot.

She must have made a noise, because suddenly he was rolling over, and sitting up, and looking at her.

“Sorry,” She blurted, stupidly. “I didn’t think you’d be here.”

_It is literally his room. Why wouldn’t he be here, you absolute moron._

He rubbed the sleep from his eye with the heel of his hand, yawning a little, and she wasn’t sure how she had managed to stay upright for so long. “No, it’s alright. I should have told you I didn’t have work today.” He glanced over at the clock, then back at her. “You can go in, I’m gonna make some breakfast.”

Then, in slow motion, Bellamy had the audacity to get out from under the covers, and begin making his bed. There was an extremely thin layer of fabric between her eyeballs and his dick, and that was suddenly just too much.

She basically ran to the bathroom, locking the door behind her and leaning against the counter for support. Her chest was heaving, and she decided right then that she was going to bury this experience deep inside her.

And maybe someone else’s dick, too, while she was at it.

***

“Is there a particular reason you want to get absolutely obliterated on a Wednesday night?” Raven inquired, sipping at her drink.

Clarke nodded absently, glancing at potential takers around the bar. “Uh huh.”

“Are you going to indulge me?”

“Nuh uh.” She gulped noisily at her drink.

“Oh, well that’s great. This should be fun, then.”

But Clarke had already spotted a pretty redhead in the corner, and was making her way over.

“Hi. I’m Clarke.”

The redhead looked taken back by her forwardness, but took her outstretched hand anyway. “I’m Glass. Nice to meet you.”

Clarke smiled, and offered to buy her a drink. That turned into three drinks, and then happily throwing darts. Raven was flirting with the bartender, and Clarke felt a warmth settle in her chest.

On drink number four, she began to remember the reason she came here. She pulled Glass tight against her, talking against her ear. “You wanna come back to my place?”

Glass nodded eagerly, and Clarke led her out of the bar.

They made out in the back of the cab, and Clarke found the lining of Glass’s underwear while they were they as well. Upstairs, Clarke ate her out against the wall, and Glass returned the favour.

All Clarke could see was the blank wall across from her, and she desperately tried not to think about the whole reason Glass was there in the first place.

Regardless, she went to sleep feeling no better than she had before.

***

When she awoke, she heard chatter coming from the kitchen. She opened the door to find Bellamy chatting up Glass like Clarke’s fingers hadn’t been inside her the night before.

“Good morning.” Bellamy said cheerfully, pouring Clarke a cup of coffee without being asked.

“Good morning.” She grumbled, slurping down the coffee, not caring that it burned all the way down. She knew she had brought Glass here to make Bellamy jealous, but she hadn’t been expecting it to fail quite so fantastically.

Their conversation carried on for a few more minutes, before Glass said she had to get going.

“I had a great time last night.” She said, handing Clarke a piece of paper with her number on it. “Call me sometime.”

Clarke grunted, taking the slip and resisting the urge to crumple it in her hand.

Once the door had closed, Bellamy flashed a sunny smile. “She seems nice.”

Clarke wrinkled her nose, and nearly spat at him. “ _You_ date her, then.” She got up, threw the piece of paper in the garbage, and retreated back into her room.

She called in sick to work, and laid around watching Netflix all day. She felt like she was out of control. Glass was perfectly kind, perfectly dateable, and Clarke had been an asshole. Bellamy had been accommodating all week, hadn’t complained once, and again, Clarke had been an asshole.

She felt like crying into her soup, but she knew rationally that that wasn’t going to solve anything, so she got out her paints instead. She did it in the living room so she’d have to face Bellamy as soon as he got home. See? She could deal with her problems rationally. Sometimes.

She decided to paint the bowl of lemons on the table, because she was boring and predictable.

Around an hour later, when her lemons were more orange than yellow, the door clicked open. Alright. Show time.

“Okay. Bellamy. Look, I was kind of a dick earlier—“

She stopped short when she saw him.

His eyes were red rimmed and swollen, like he’d been crying. He simply stood there, not moving, so once she remembered how to breathe again, she stumbled off her stool and helped him with his bags.

He wiped his nose on his sleeve. “I didn’t get your paint.”

She shook her head. “It’s okay, that’s okay. Come on, I’ll make you some tea. Come on.”

She wrapped him up in a blanket on the couch, and went to put on the kettle. She stared at him as it boiled, and he stared blankly at the wall.

She had seen Bellamy so angry she thought he might punch something, she had seen him frustrated and upset, but she had never seen Bellamy cry. Bellamy crying meant something bad happened, something that he couldn’t fix. And Bellamy could fix anything.

It wasn’t until she tried to pour the water that she realized her hands were shaking.

She handed him his cup of tea, and curled up beside him, waiting patiently for him to speak.

He cleared his throat. “I was at work, and I had prep last period, so I was just sitting at my desk grading papers, when I heard shouting in the hall.” He stopped, swallowed, started again. “There was a whole crowd of students when I got there, surrounding these two kids, and the one was beating the other to a pulp. Apparently, he had been outed to the entire class, and this homophobic little prick decided it was his job to set him straight.”

Clarke squeezed his arm, feeling anger and exhaustion battle in her chest. “What a fucking _asshole_.”

He nodded, and took a sip of his tea before speaking again. “I finally managed to get through and pull him off him, but the damage was already done. There was blood all over the floor, the kid was barely conscious.” He shook his head. “The worst part— _the worst part_ —was that everyone just stood back and watched. No one tried to stop it, and I just started to think—what if they knew about _me_? I started to think about Miller and Raven and Monty.” He glanced at her. “About you.”

He stopped, shaking his head, and Clarke felt like her chest was going to cave in on itself. She took the tea from his hands, and took his hand, tugging until he was right up against her.

“Nothing is going to happen to me, or Miller, or anyone. That asshole is going to get what’s coming to him, sooner or later.”

He moved so that his arm came to rest across her waist, and she tried not to jump at the contact. “You promise?”

She squeezed his arm. “Even if I have to do it myself.”

She felt him smile against her neck, and it was a lot all at once. His body pressed against hers, his breath fluttering across her skin—he was close enough for her to see all the freckles that the winter sun had tried to hide.

He sighed, settling closer against her, and she hoped to god he couldn’t feel her pulse right now. “Do you wanna watch a movie?”

She grabbed the remote off the coffee table, and adjusted the blanket so that it was covering them both equally. She queued up something light on Netflix, and settled in. They stayed like that for the rest of the night, and as she sat there, cuddling with Bellamy Blake, she realized that something had shifted between them, and it was going to be hard to put back.

The funny thing was, she didn’t know if that was even what she wanted anymore.

***

She called Wells the next day on lunch, to complain and get some prolonged advice. Wells might have been the same age as her, but he was just— _wise_. Like a grandfather.

“You know I hate being compared to a grandfather.” He said, then scolded his three year old, Delilah, for standing on the piano.

“Would you prefer grandmother?”

She could picture his scowl perfectly. “I may feel like a grandmother, but no, that is not any better.”

Clarke laughed, then poked at her sushi distractedly. “So, I have a problem.”

“Does it have anything to do with the piece of man meat you’re sharing a shower with?” He replied immediately, and Clarke pouted.

“That makes it sound like we’re showering _together_. We’re not doing that.”

“Yet.”

It was her turn to scowl. “Shut up. _Anyway_. Yes, he is the problem. Or—not really, how I might— _feel_ about, him, is the problem.”

Wells clapped giddily. “Hallelujah! We have finally admitted to feelings! Alright, alright, what brought this on?”

She suddenly very much regretted saying anything at all. “It’s just—it’s nothing, really. I’m definitely overthinking things—“

“— _But_ —“

“But—“ she sighed. “This week has been really—nice. He let me use his shower, and let me help cook, and helped me organize my CDs, and yesterday something happened at school and we ended up cuddling—“

The phone on the other end clattered to the floor, and she could just imagine Wells scrambling to pick it up again. “Hold the fuck up. You? And Bellamy? You _cuddled_?”

She spun around in her chair so the rest of the office couldn’t see how red her face was.

“ _Yes_.” She seethed, rubbing her temples. This conversation was turning out to be a lot more hindrance than help. “So do you see my problem? I can’t remember the last time Bellamy and I hugged, let alone snuggled up on the couch together.”

There was a long pause on the other end of the line, and she waited patiently for Wells to embark his wisdom upon her. “Alright, well, let’s get the first issue out of the way. Do you think you actually might feel something for him, or are you a girl and he’s a boy and this is our heteronormative brains working in overdrive?”

She blinked. “Well, shit, Wells! You were supposed to help, not make me more confused!”

He chuckled, like the bastard he was. “I honestly don’t think that’s the case, but we need to explore all our options. What do you _like_ about Bellamy? Other than the fact that he’s attractive.”

She stuffed a California roll into her mouth while she thought. What did she like about Bellamy? A month ago, she would have said nothing, but things were different now.

“I mean, I like it when he’s nice to me. But actually, I kind of like it when it’s mean to me, too. He doesn’t take any of my bullshit. And he’s a really good listener, surprisingly. And he’s so clean, which used to bother me, but it’s actually very refreshing to see a man take pride in a lack of germs. And he’s such a dad, he just takes care of everyone without expecting anything in return. Plus, he can cook, which is very attractive, _I_ think. _Fuck_.”

“What?”

“How long have I been in love with Bellamy?”

Wells paused. “For a while.”

She shook her head. “And no one thought to tell me this while I was pulling his pigtails on the schoolyard like some idiot?”

“In all fairness, he was pulling your pigtails, too.”

She held her breath. “He was?”

“Of _course_ he was. Why would he let someone he despised live in his apartment? And cook for her almost every night? And look after her when she’s sick or upset? I am so glad you finally figured this out.”

Her smile was beginning to get too wide to contain. She covered it with her hand, but she was on the verge of not caring anymore. “Okay, okay. Okay, thanks Wells. Thank you. Say hi to Delilah for me.”

“If I don’t kill her before then, sure. Good luck.”

She bit her lip in another smile. “Thanks.”

She hung up, beginning to happily munch on her sushi. She would give herself some time to digest, really make sure this was what she wanted, and then seduce him, probably.

She was already pretty sure, though.

***

She felt giddy, she felt sick to her stomach, each feeling shifting into the other every three seconds.

It was fine.

But she didn’t know what to do. Should she just walk up and kiss him? Should she seduce him into making the first move? Should she prepare a speech? How did people in real life do this sort of bullshit without coming off as completely and undeniably _fake_?

That night, she helped him with dinner again, and was hyper aware of every move that he made. Reaching over her to grab the pepper, bumping his hip against hers while they each chopped their respective vegetables, squeezing her forearm gently while she stirred the sauce and he added ingredients.

She really was doing her best not to blurt out an incomprehensible pile of lovesick garbage, but he was making it so _difficult_.

She wanted whatever she said to be good, she wanted it to sweep him off his feet. She didn’t want to sound stupid or make him think it was a heat of the moment decision. She wanted him to know that she’d thought long and hard about this, and she was choosing him.

They sat down to eat again, and she decided this was a good time to gather some critical information.

“Can I ask a question?”

He slurped at his pasta. “If it’s about my secret ingredient, then no.”

She pointed her fork at him. “I _am_ going to figure that out, one of these days, but—“ she shifted in her seat. “—that isn’t my question.”

More slurping ensued.

“Why don’t you date? Or bring anyone to the apartment?”

The slurping was interrupted by an intense and alarming choking sound. She thumped him on the back, and he hurriedly gulped down some water. Once his eyes had stopped watering, he stared at her, completely nonchalant. “Why do you ask?”

She shrugged, also nonchalant. “I don’t know. I’ve known you for a while, and I don’t think you’ve ever been on a second date.”

“Does that bother you?” His face had turned sour, and he was quick to put up his defences. She could feel an argument coming on, and she had not prepared for that.

“No, not at all. I was just wondering. You don’t have to tell me—“

“Good.” His hand was a tight fist on the table. “Because there’s nothing to tell.”

He gathered up his dishes, his appetite seemingly gone, and dumped them gracelessly in the sink. He stalked to the doorway of his bedroom, a hard line forming between his brows. “I have a headache. I’m going to turn in early.”

“Bellamy—“ she started, but the door was already closed.

She sighed, her appetite gone as well, and began cleaning up the mess they’d made earlier.

There was a hard lump in her throat that made swallowing difficult, but she did so anyway. What had she expected? For Bellamy to immediately open up to her about why he didn’t date? After a solid week of them somewhat getting along? He obviously hadn’t any revelations about her, and was still the same grouchy old man that he’d always been where Clarke was concerned.

She gripped the edge of the counter, an overwhelming surge of emotion threatening to knock her over.

Inhaling, she focused back on her task. One little set back shouldn’t matter, and she wasn’t going to let it discourage her.

Well, she was going to try, anyway.

***

The next morning, a gentle waft of men’s cologne floated over her as Bellamy shook her shoulder. Quite violently, might she add.

She swatted at his hand, and stubbornly snuggled deeper into her covers. Her words were heavy with sleep, so they had a strange cadence once she finally was able to move her tongue. “What, could you, _possibly_ want?”

His smile was impossibly warm. “Come on, let’s go get your paint.”

“I really think it’s you who’s really invested in this. It’s definitely your paint at this point.”

He rolled his eyes, and found her hand beneath the covers, tugging on it until she was sitting upright and glaring at him. Ignoring the tingling sensation running of her arm, she crossed them and checked the clock radio on her nightstand.

Her mouth fell open. “It is Saturday. And you are waking me up at eight in the morning. To do chores.”

The tugging continued, unbothered. “Not chores. _Errands_. That makes it sound much more fun.”

“Does it, though?”

Finally, he was able to rouse her from the bed, and shove her towards the shower. “Come on, go get ready. I’ll make you some breakfast, give you some coffee, and then we can go.”

She scowled, but turned to do as she was told anyway.

In the shower, she realized there hadn’t been any mention of the night before, no lingering anger, or tension. Why had he gotten so defensive? Was he like that with everyone, or did he save his worst moods for her? She dumped some peach shampoo into her palm, rubbing vigorously at her scalp. What? She could like peach, too.

She towelled off, and brushed through her hair, then braided it back. She put on her comfiest mom jeans, and a white t-shirt.

In the kitchen, Bellamy had done the same.

She stared at their matching outfits for a moment, before growling, “Fine. _I’ll_ go change.”

She could hear his laughter even after she shut her door.

***

In the car, she was really struggling to focus on anything except how close he was and how good he smelled and how clean his car was.

He’d even opened the door for her. Come _on_.

Bellamy had a stick shift, which was hot enough in itself, but watching him shift gears with a determined coolness in his eyes—it was, again, a lot.

His hand flexed on the gear shift, and she pressed her thighs together, forcing herself to look out the window.

He rambled on about the book he was reading, and for once, she found herself listening intently. It was kind of cute, how excited he got about the characters, and the _writing_ , of all things.

“It’s just so complex, Clarke. The words all string together like something out of a dream. I just hope I’m half as good as this guy if I get published.”

She already knew he was better, but she kept that to herself. “When.”

“Hm?”

“When you get published, you mean.”

He glanced over to smile at her, and she felt her whole body ignite in a pleasant warmth.

If she managed to get through this car ride without becoming a puddle of lovesick stupidness, it would be a good day.

At last, they arrived at the paint shop. It was mostly empty, and there a cute elderly woman who was eager to help them.

“Grey paint? Is that for a nursery?” She asked, blinking innocently at the pair that she had virtually just stunned into silence.

Bellamy recovered first, but instead of correcting her, he grabbed Clarke’s hand and intertwined their fingers. “Just a bedroom for now, actually.”

The woman was delighted, none the less. “Well, if you ever change your mind, you two would make adorable children.”

She turned away, leading them to the paint aisle they were looking for. Clarke was still trying to remember how to speak, when Bellamy leaned over to talk low in her ear. “Maybe she’ll give us a discount if we play along.”

She could only nod, and when he squeezed her fingers in reassurance, she almost buckled at the knees.

They found the shade of paint they wanted, and paid for it. The woman waved at them happily, after giving them a few coupons for the next time they were in, and Bellamy tucked Clarke under his arm as they walked away.

He let her go as soon as they were outside, and a slight chill made her shiver.

Bellamy was chipper as anything in the car, discussing tarps and what painting clothes he would wear and should they get primer? She had to look away so he wouldn’t see her smile.

“Alright. I assume you haven’t painted a wall before.” He said after they had changed into old t-shirts that they didn’t mind getting paint on, and had set down the tarps.

Her hands automatically moved to her hips. “And why would you assume that?”

He raised his eyebrows, _you’re really going to argue with me?_ and she huffed, nonverbally admitting that no, she had not painted a wall before, and would like some instruction.

He shook his head, but there was a smile lighting up his features.

Actually, it was kind of fun. They sectioned off the wall so they each had half to paint, and it was a race to see who could finish first. At one point, Clarke veered to the left of her area, smearing some paint on Bellamy’s perfect straight lines. Accidentally, of course.

“Hey!” Bellamy cried, shoving her over and pointing his paint brush in a menacing manner. “Stay on your side of the wall!”

She was laughing too hard to think of a comeback.

She quickly pulled herself together, however, when she realized Bellamy was nearly finished, and her wall was only half way painted.

“No fair! You’re taller than I am!” She protested, jumping in an a futile attempt to reach the higher parts of the wall.

Bellamy’s tone was bored. “There’s a chair right there. Use it.”

She scowled, and in a moment of cruel desperation, she smeared her paint brush down the length of his front.

Time seemed to stop as Bellamy’s jaw fell open, gaping at the mess of his t-shirt. He glanced up at her in shock. “What a complete waste of resources.”

He was upon her so fast she barely had time to register his movement before she was grabbed by the waist, and smushed against his front, covering her in paint as well.

“No! No, no! Bellamy!” She managed to wriggle her way free, dunking her hand in the paint bucket and proceeding to dump it onto his curls.

Bellamy gasped as paint dripped from his hair, onto his face, and then the floor. “You are _so_ going to regret that.”

He grabbed each of their paintbrushes, which had been abandoned on the floor, and with reflexes as fast as lightning, he pushed one down on her head, while the other painted her chest.

Clarke didn’t waste any time, she wiped the liquid from her hair, and ran at him, forcing him against the wall as she covered his arms and neck.

He squirmed, his face pinching in discomfort. “God, that feels horrible. It’s like a mud bath with harmful toxins.”

She had her hands wrapped around his throat, which she had been previously admiring, when she realized she had the upper hand. She raised her eyebrows. “Truce?”

He lifted a grey and damp finger, and touched her nose with it’s tip. He grinned. “Now we can truce.”

Stepping away and glaring, she wiped angrily at her nose.

Bellamy, unfazed as always, picked up the paintbrush, and continued his even and condescending strokes. After a moment, she began to do the same.

They stepped back to admire their work, and Clarke lifted her hand. Bellamy silently and without looking slapped it enthusiastically. He then looked down at himself, snorted, and pulled her across the apartment into the bathroom.

He started up the shower, and gave her a few wash clothes to clean up with. She dampened them, and wiped violently at her skin.

Watery grey trails raced down her cheeks as she leaned against the counter and scrubbed. In the sink, Bellamy was doing the same. Somehow, most of the water was getting on his shirt, and the way it stuck to his abdonmen made her head spin.

She threw her washcloth in the sink, and donned a sunny smile. “Did I get everything?”

He looked up at her, and laughed. “Not even close.”

He picked up her discarded cloth, and to her utter astonishment, cupped her jaw with one hand and began gently removing the spots she had missed.

 _His mouth is very close to me right now_ , she thought, stupidly. Her sigh of pleasure might as well have been an outright moan.

He smelled like mint, and that spice he always added to his pasta. He had his lip caught between his teeth in concentration, and she was absolutely going to die.

She had leaned forward slightly, undeniably her subconscious working against her, most of the weight on her toes. She lost her balance slightly, and automatically her hand went to his hip to steady herself.

She noticed him glance down at where her hand rested, and then dart back up to her.

She didn’t move her hand.

Slowly, _torturously_ , he set down the cloth. His hand moved to join the other at her jaw, and his lips were a whisper against her own. She couldn’t think, she couldn’t breathe—she never wanted it to end. Ever.

She pressed more insistently against his mouth, deepening the kiss. Tangling her fingers in his hair, she pulled him closer to her, and his arms wrapped around her in response. Her stomach and chest were pinned against his, and she still wasn’t close enough.

Soon, he was lifting her into his arms and setting her on the counter. Her legs wrapped around him, and his hands slipped under her shirt.

She couldn’t help but let her head fall back as he began kissing down the column of her throat. “ _Bellamy_.”

He immediately jumped away at the sound of his name in her mouth.

She was breathing much heavier than she normally did after a simple make out, and she took deeper breaths in order to disguise it.

Bellamy was against the opposite wall, pushing his hand through his hair. Exactly what she had been doing mere seconds ago.

_And I would like to be doing it again, if you’d just step a little closer—_

“Clarke.” His voice was hoarse, and he kept shaking his head. A pit opened up in her stomach, and she wished she could jump inside. “I can’t—it shouldn’t—we _can’t_. We’re roommates, and friends, kind of, which has been really great, actually, and it just can’t happen.”

She swallowed against the sudden lump in her throat, unable to speak. Which was alright, because Bellamy filled the silence for her.

“Not like this.”

The words were quiet, but she did manage to make them out. They made her chest bloom with hope. His forehead was against the wall, and she could see the deep and steady rise and fall of his shoulders.

She slipped off the counter, and came up beside him, resting her hand on his shoulder. Her voice was soft. “What do you mean?”

He had his eyes closed, but his jaw still fluttered at her touch. “Nothing. It’s stupid.”

“I can promise you it isn’t.”

One eye cracked open. “You’re going to laugh at me.”

“And since when has that stopped you?”

The slightest flash of a grin, and she pressed her lips against his shoulder.

He sighed. “I mean—I don’t want it to happen like this. Something that neither of us has really thought about, and that ruins everything. If we were to go through with this, and then things went back to the way they were before—“ his inhale was sharp. “—I don’t want that. I want—“

She leaned closer. “What do you want, Bellamy?”

He looked at her, so deeply it felt as though he could read her innermost thoughts, and in the next instant he had her in his arms. He rested his forehead against hers as he gently pressed her into the wall.

His voice was small, like a child’s. “I want you. In my bed. In my shower. Everywhere. Pestering me while I’m making dinner and stealing the remote and making a mess of my apartment and in my lap while we watch those reality shows you like—“ he hugged her a little tighter, the words barely a whisper. “—I just want you, Clarke.”

Normally, she would have been embarrassed by the tears that pricked her eyes while in Bellamy’s presence, but she was much too happy to notice, let alone care.

She kissed him, again and again, words not seemingly enough, then took his face in her hands. “I promise, I’ve thought long and hard about this, and—probably against my better judgement—l want you, too, Bellamy.”

His laugh was watery. “That’s never stopped you before.”

She flicked his ear in retaliation, but her faux-anger was immediately dispersed by his lips on hers.

“Now,” she said. “What was that I heard about a bed?”

He snorted, picking her up to deliver her exactly there. He looked down at her, shaking his head. “You’re really a one track mind kind of girl, aren’t you?”

She pulled him down to kiss him again instead of answering.

Once he’d eaten her out twice, and she rode him until she screamed, they laid beside each other quietly. Idly, he trailed his fingers along her arms, sending goosebumps skittering across her flesh.

“You know, I totally could have fixed your shower.”

Her eyes widened so quickly it was a wonder they didn’t pop out of her head. “You could have _what_ , now?”

His laugh was almost a wheeze, and it only infuriated her more. “I knew you’d have to use my shower if yours was broken, so I let it stay broken.”

She slapped his arm. Hard. “You dick! You ass! I cannot believe you put me through that agony and anxiety!”

“Please. You loved using my shower.” He held both her hands captive as to avoid any future attacks. “Especially when you stumbled across a half naked yours truly.”

He gestured to himself, waggling his eyebrows. She had to look away as not to smile.

She scoffed, crossing her arms. “You’re despicable.”

He smiled, rolling onto his side and wrapping himself around her. “You love it.”

Against her will, she inadvertently snuggled closer, because ultimately, he was right. She did love it, and she hopefully would for a long, long time.

**Author's Note:**

> i actually wrote this in january and never got around to editing it, so hopefully this made quarantine more bearable <3


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